The Long Road

I looked across the room at my husband, the person who has been by my side through this long and difficult journey. Sensing I was watching him and thinking I needed something, he took two strides with his long legs and he was by my side once again. His strong, rough to the touch hands gently brushed away the stray strand of hair from my sweaty face. “Are you feeling ok my beautiful?” he asked quietly, his voice to me, as always, was soothing, velvety as a piece of creamy choc melting on my tongue. Dark blue eyes, pools of deep water met my light blue ones, and a wave of anticipation passed like an invisible string from one to the other.

“A little sleepy” she managed to say as her eye lids started to shut. A nurse had come back into the room – she had only been gone for about thirty seconds - and with the efficiency of someone who had been doing her job for many years, quickly put another cannula into Debbie’s hand, saying, with authority, “It’s just because you’re a little dehydrated”, took her blood pressure yet once again, smiled as if she should be on a toothpaste ad, and was gone. Two seconds later she popped her dark mop of hair around the door frame, and with a voice to match the speed at which she managed to do everything, said “Dr. Mitchell is on his way. He shouldn’t be too long. I’ll be back shortly”.

John flopped into the chair, his long frame sliding down as if he had just been poured from a jug. A long sigh escaped from his mouth and rubbing his hands over his face and then through his curly hair, he sat staring and thinking about what was to be. His wife of eighteen years lay in a bed surrounded by machines, beeping constantly, and lights flashing numbers that as much as he tried to figure them out, made no sense to him.

Debbie stretched her arm over to him and laid her soft hand on his arm – warm and reassuring. She was calmer than he was; he wished they could give him something to take the edge of his jangling nerves. Intertwining her fingers through his, he looked over to the girl he had loved since High School. So much had happened in their lives together since the first stolen kiss behind the sports shed. She had endured so much. And even though he thought his wife had ‘drawn the short straw’ in life, she was so optimistic about everything, that at times it put him to shame.

Into the room bustled Dr Mitchell. Looking like he had just rolled out of bed, his hair reminded John of a tuft of old shaggy carpet. The sleeves of his shirt didn’t stop at his wrist but carried on down, settling at the base of his thumb. “Hello Debbie. Good morning John. How are we both? It’s a big day today eh? Now, the nurse will have explained what to expect, but do you have any questions for me?”

“I don’t” Debbie answered in a quiet tone, looking at her anxious husband to see if he did. She could tell he was nervous by the red splodges on his usually clear cheeks. She remembered when they stood at the Alter in the little one hundred year old church, and the Minister, who looked nearly as old as the building, had asked John if ‘he took this woman to be his lawful wedded wife’, and as John tried to get the words ‘I do’ out, but instead he uttered ‘Do I?’ – to which all the guests laughed, and instantly two bright red circles appeared on his light coloured cheeks – perfectly round as if they had first been measures before red paint had been applied.

“No questions from me” John said, before adding, “Not at the moment”. They looked at each other and Debbie gave a smile, which said ‘It will be ok, it really will’.

The young married couple had only been back from their honeymoon trip for about three months when Debbie became ill. At first it was thought she had picked up some sort of nasty virus from somewhere on holidays, but after what seemed like a never ending number of blood tests, CAT scans, MRI’s and so much more, they were told that Debbie had brain cancer. Their ordered and seemingly normal lives became, very quickly chaotic and disordered. Normality was turned upside down and Debbie was in and out of the hospital continually. After her operation to remove the tumour, Chemo was administered at home so John worked from home, and as time lapsed, it brought with it some order of semblance in a way.

Debbie was even more philosophical about life after the cancer. Her catch cry to John when he was in a ‘why you’ mood was ‘It has to be someone, and that’s just life’.

Three years down the track when life was again fun and relaxed, when weekends were late lie-in’s and late nights, when the big ‘C’ word wasn’t thought about very often, let alone spoken about, tragedy struck again. The cancer had returned – it had sneaked in unexpectedly. But this time it slyly crept into a different part of the body – and the medical merry-go-round started up once again.

 John was angry and thought that life was very unfair, he would rather it was him this time and not his wife – she had been through enough already.

“John” Debbie spoke softly as she held his hand in between hers, “We got through this once, and we will get through it again. If I can survive brain cancer, then I can survive having a kidney removed. We’ve been told all we need to know, and spoken to specialists and nephrologists and we know that a person can survive quite well with just one kidney. I’m ok with it, so you should be too”.

He stroked her arm and hung his head. After a few seconds his head came up and he took a deep breath. “I’m not the one having the surgery or another lot of chemo” he said in a quiet voice “but I don’t want anything to happen to you.  I don’t like to see you in pain or discomfort. It’s hard for me too”. The dark circles under his eyes gave him a sunken look, a sign of how tired and worried he was.

“Let’s just forget it for tonight. We can watch a movie together to take our mind off things. Good idea?” she asked, a strong feeling of nausea rising up to her throat, and then subsiding like a giant wave on a turbulent ocean .

The removal of the kidney was a success. “It went very well indeed, with no complications” the surgeon told them when Debbie had come out of the anaesthetic. “We’ll keep you in for at least seven days and then decide the next course of treatment that you will need. Of course you are well aware that you will be given chemotherapy. No need for radiotherapy at this stage”. And with that he was off to do his rounds.

The chemo wasn’t for as long this time around and fortunately didn’t have the same awful side effects as the last time. “Well I am grateful that I’m not feeling that dreadful nausea this time around” Debbie said with her usual good humoured attitude.

The prognosis was positive. Once the chemo was finished there would be six monthly check-ups and unless any complications in-between, they didn’t want to see her. “And we don’t want to see you either” Debbie told them cheekily as she got up to leave the Specialist room. They were known in the hospital by some of the staff after being there so often during the last five years.

“I feel that I want to go back to work now John” Debbie told her husband one balmy summer afternoon as they lay on the ground near the river. It was a warm day and overhead white butterflies danced around them. Underneath, the grass was soft and spongy but dry. They had just been talking about the time they met here in their lunch breaks from work – getting out their lunch from the paper bags, they had plonked themselves down on the grass, but not long after they realised that the ground wasn’t perfectly dry. Debbie had worn a white skirt with a print of bright flowers, but now had a big brown patch where she had sat down, and John who had worn fawn coloured trousers that day also had a big patch on the back that looked like he had wet himself. Of course they were the laughing stock of the office when they got back to work but could both attest as to what the patch really was!

“Do you feel well enough love?” he asked with concern in his voice. “I know you seem well but do you think it’s too soon?”

“Of course it’s not too soon. I am as well as I’ll ever be, and I’m bored now. If I have to do one more ‘art and craft’ project I’ll go mad. Honestly John. I’m ready”. It wasn’t often that Debbie sounded angry but she had raised her normally low voice to a pitch that caught the attention of an old lady sitting on the wooden bench not far away. She turned her head, grey bun bouncing on the top, and looked over. Seeing that there was nothing interesting going on, turned back again to watch the elegant swans on the water.

“John, before we go back home, there’s something else I want to talk about”.

He turned his head quickly after hearing the tone of her voice and with a quizzical expression asked what it was.

“Well we’ve been trying for a baby for ages now and nothing is happening. We knew that with all the chemo there would be a chance that I couldn’t conceive. We have waited the recommended length of time to use my frozen eggs and I want to begin the process now. I really want a baby now”. She was looking at him intently, and he reached over to hug her – sensing her sadness at not being able to conceive naturally and knowing that it was something they both longed for. Debbie had always wanted children. Her childhood hadn’t been great, being brought up by a sole parent, and to make life more difficult, that parent being an alcoholic mother. She had never known her father, and still didn’t to this day. Her mother told her one day that ‘you came from a one night stand’, and when Debbie asked who her father was, she replied ‘How the hell do I know’. She had been fortunate to have lived near her Grandma, a sweet and loving lady, but who tragically died when Debbie was twelve. She had felt the loss of her Gran deeply and missed her even today. She remembers talking to her Grandma about when she was ‘grown up’ and having a baby, that she would love it and care for it, just like Gran did for her. She spent most of her time at her Gran’s house – at least it was clean, warm and there was always something to eat. Debbie endured life with her alcohol affected mother until she left school. One day when she arrived home to the untidy, loveless and foodless house, her mother informed her that she was leaving. “It’s all too much for me having a kid. You’re old enough to stand on yer own two feet now” she slurred.

“When have I ever done anything else” Debbie thought as she looked at the scruffy, sad looking woman who had given birth to her.

She had no other family that she knew of and missed her Grandma with an acute ache in heart. John’s family had taken her under their wing, giving her a room at their house and cared for her -with the proviso that no ‘shenanigans’ goes on under this roof.

“How about tomorrow we make an appointment to see Dr. Lyon?” John said as they packed up. Debbie wasn’t listening – she was watching a young mother take her baby out of the pram and hold it close to chest and cuddle it. The young mother sat down on the bench next to the old lady, who started up a conversation. She held her baby in outstretched arms and made faces, and both the mother and the elderly lady laughed at the face the baby had obviously made back.

“That’s what I want John – I desperately want one of those”.

The process for falling pregnant was arduous and long. Many trips to the hospital for both Debbie and John, albeit necessary, were draining. The talks and the blood tests were fine – it was when the first egg was implanted and then, at the right time – John sheepishly turned up at the hospital to ‘do his part! Debbie overheard him telling one of his mates over the phone……‘there’s nothing to it – once you get over the embarrassment it’s fine. Just doing my bit you know’!  

The first fertilized egg had been implanted for about four weeks – Debbie hadn’t been feeling well but was told that this was quite normal. Both she and John, although excited about the prospects of having that longed for baby, were nervous too.

The first miscarriage was the worst. Debbie had never experienced one before. Cramps and nausea woke her and switching on the bedside lamp she shook John awake. “Something’s wrong John. I don’t feel right. This pain in my stomach is really bad. I think you should take me to the hospital. Now!” she yelled, more because in her heart she knew what was happening. As she swung her legs out of bed John came around to her side and hugged her. “Come on my beautiful, let’s get you to the hospital.

They left the hospital the next day, feeling empty and sad, but knowing that they could and would try again soon. Work was good for Debbie. She told her work collegue that IVF consumes you. It is always at the forefront of your mind and never leaves.  

Four more rounds of IVF and four more miscarriages. The last miscarriage was by far the worst. The cramps and sickness started like every other time, but they weren’t prepared for the sight of the bedsheet as Debbie slowly shuffled off the bed and stood up. She turned and stared down, her breath coming in short bursts as tears flowed down her face. “Oh John” she sobbed onto his shoulder as she raced around to hold her. “I’ll never have a baby. I’ll never give you a child. We’re never going to be parents”, and her shoulders heaved up and down with the emotion that comes with loss. “Yes we will my love. We’ll keep trying. Please don’t cry”, he soothingly told his wife, as he sniffed and wiped away his own tears.

When Debbie was little her Gran taught her how to knit. It was difficult to learn and each time Debbie had to take the row of stitches off the needle because it was so knotted and completely wrong, she would tell her Gran in annoyance, her little face angry and frustrated, “I’ll never be able to knit. I’ll never learn!” but the words she always remembered her Gran saying lovingly to her were,

“There are things in life that we want to do and the only person who is responsible for getting them done is ourselves. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again”.

She did ‘try, try again’ and is now the wearer of beautiful knitwear - the envy of many people who have to buy theirs’s at twice the cost and half the quality.

Her Grandmother’s words of encouragement never left her.

At the hospital, yet again, through all the sadness and disappointment, the thought was going through Debbie’s mind that she was going to be a mother. She could hear her dear old Gran’s quiet voice telling her so.

Debbie lay back on the bed. Her Gran had been quite right. She and John never gave up and now here they were on the cusp of becoming ‘Mummy and Daddy’. Excitement coursed through her body. It felt like a dream and she hoped it wasn’t. She wanted to wake up to a living and breathing combination of her and John.

There were seven people altogether in the operating theatre. John was gowned up and nervous. Debbie in her own gown and hairnet looked loving at her husband. He held her hand, hers dry and his sweaty with nerves.

After feeling the ‘pulling’ sensation, she heard the cry. The most beautiful sound in the world.“You have a beautiful baby daughter”. Debbie held out her hands and the soft and slippery bundle was placed on her chest. She placed her hands on top of the baby and felt the warmth. Tears were rolling down Debbie’s face. “Oh John, we have a daughter, we have a baby”, she said to her husband, his face showing instant love for his daughter and bewilderment too.

“Here you are dad, you can cut the cord”. A pair of scissors was place in John’s hand and he gently cut what had been the life line between mother and child for nine months, but it didn’t matter because the lifeline and the love between them would last for ever.

He sat on the edge of the bed holding the tiny, soft hand in his. They both looked at her with amazement. She was their miracle baby and Debbie’s lifelong dream.

Debbie’s mother passed fleetingly through her mind, and then out again.

She thought of the mother she was determined to be and smiled wistfully.